


Unconditionally

by mariaWASD



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, I'm not a parent I have no idea what I'm doing, M/M, Parentlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock is a Good Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 14:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13706511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariaWASD/pseuds/mariaWASD
Summary: I've wanted to write this for a long time now and it finally happened.I want to gift this toEllipsical, because I wanted to say thank you for all the times your writing has pulled me through some hard days and maybe, just maybe, this can do the same for you for a few minutes. <3 (PS: I do hope you're okay with parentlock and Rosie.)





	Unconditionally

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ellipsical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellipsical/gifts).



> I've wanted to write this for a long time now and it finally happened. 
> 
> I want to gift this to [Ellipsical](https://ellipsical-elle.tumblr.com/), because I wanted to say thank you for all the times your writing has pulled me through some hard days and maybe, just maybe, this can do the same for you for a few minutes. <3 (PS: I do hope you're okay with parentlock and Rosie.)

It was the beginning of February, again, fascinating how fast time seemed to run when there’s a toddler living in your home, a curious, ever learning ball of energy. 

A tiny human that has filled the emptiness in his heart, that occupies his mind like no case or experiment, no human being ever could, John might come very close, but Rosie managed to take that first place and she hasn’t let go since. 

But Sherlock wouldn’t want to have it any other way. The love he feels for Rosie is indescribable, but all consuming nonetheless, he relishes every second with her, commits everything to his mind palace, which had to undergo major expansions the first week John and her had permanently moved back to Baker Street. 

Now she’s almost three years old, likes to throw the occasional tantrum and a subsequent sulk, which she clearly has from him, knows and uses the words ‘bloody’ and ‘shit’ that only every leave John’s mouth (on accident) when she’s with them and makes a very adorable face when she’s annoyed with something, which she has from both of them. 

Speaking of tantrum, he could hear her signature whining (number three) coming through the open living room window where John was currently opening and trying to maneuver himself, Rosie, push chair and daycare bag through the front door. Whining number three would most likely turn into a tantrum in 93 percent, unless Sherlock found the one thing that would distract her this time. Good thing he’s gotten rather good at it. 

He got up from his armchair and searched the living room for possible candidates of distraction, a process that’s always like a puzzle, eliminating the things she played with the last couple of days, taking into consideration the time of day, the season, what Rosie had for breakfast and lunch, it’s a massive calculation that manages to exhilarate him every time and when he’s correct about it (again), sees her relax and be captivated by the thing Sherlock has chosen for her, it’s one of the greatest rewards he can think about. 

You’d think it had to be something special, something colourful, complicated in it’s structure, or make interesting noises, etcetera, but that’s not what this is about. One time the object of Rosie’s restored happiness was John’s RAMC mug (which miraculously stayed intact), or a few weeks back (and he was immensely proud of her that day) his magnifying glass which she spent hours opening and closing, giggling at the noise it made when snapped shut the way Sherlock does all the time. 

Just as John stumbled through the door with a squirming and upset toddler in his right arm, he snatched Billy from the mantle and sat himself on the floor between their armchairs, hiding the skull behind his back. 

“Papa!” Rosie yelled as she spotted Sherlock. 

Not betting an eye about what Sherlock could possibly be up to, John started explaining as he wrestled Rosie out of her boots and jacket. “She apparently had an argument with Gwen today, who wanted her toy, which Rosie tried to explain was not her’s to take as long as she wanted to play with it, but Gwen didn’t understand — or refused to. The argument wasn’t over when I was picking her up and now she’s upset that she couldn’t win and on top of that had to let go of the toy.” 

“That’s my girl,” Sherlock said, not able to stop the grin spreading from ear to ear. “Sit with her in your lap in front of me, I have a plan.” 

John had stopped wondering what those ‘plans’ of Sherlock entailed long ago, now just doing as he was asked, giving Sherlock a welcome kiss and letter him hug Rosie before mirroring Sherlock and pulling Rosie over to sit on his crossed legs. 

The next half hours was spent with Rosie hysterically laughing about everything Sherlock did with the skull, holding it in front of his face and moving the lower jaw while he was speaking nonsense or imitating to be attacked by it, which made even John giggle. 

Sherlock was cautious though, would never let her touch a real human skull, but it didn’t matter, she was enjoying the show very much, her eyes glittering with excitement and happiness and the sour mood from earlier entirely forgotten. It was evidence of her adventures character and fearlessness that she found the skull nothing but incredibly funny. 

By the end of it, she was tired, yawning and rubbing at her eyes, so John carried her up to her crip for an afternoon nap while Sherlock listened to them over the baby monitor. 

When John came back down he practically attacked Sherlock, straddling him and plunging his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth with enthusiasm that Sherlock couldn’t possibly have anything against and was giving back as good as he was getting. 

When the kiss broke, Sherlock managed to pant, “She’s only going to be down for 34 minutes, we don’t have much time.” 

“Shame, I could spent hours tasting every inch of your body right now,” John murmured against his neck and followed it with sucking the skin under Sherlock’s ear between his lips. 

Sherlock’s hips bucked up, his half hard cock desperately seeking friction. “You could do that tonight, though.” 

“Not could, I’m going to do it. For now though…”

Sliding off Sherlock and standing on visibly shaking legs, John pulled Sherlock towards their bedroom, leaving him just enough time to reach for the monitor to take with them.

In the bedroom, Sherlock’s clothes were off in a matter of seconds, followed by John divesting his own as fast as he could and climbing into bed where Sherlock was already sprawled out and waiting. 

“How are you so beautiful,” John said when he reached Sherlock and sealed there lips together again in a heated kiss. It came to an end all to soon and John began kissing down his body, spending some extra time on his nipples before going further down and swirling his tongue in Sherlock’s belly button and finally coming to his attention demanding erection. “Close your eyes.” 

Senses fully turned to John and the hot breathe ghosting over his skin, the first kiss to the root of his cock was already intense, sending a tingling through his stomach and making his breathe hitch. 

Four kisses followed all the way up to the tip where John suddenly enveloped him in wet, hot heat that punched a deep groan from his lunges and was followed by one moan after the other when John slowly started bobbing his head up and down, taking in more of Sherlock every time until he felt John’s fast pants ruffling his pubic hair. 

Sherlock’s head shot up, his eyes trying to focus on John, but finding it hard to do through the thick fog of arousal and disbelieve. John had never taken him all the way, whether he didn’t want to or couldn’t didn’t matter to Sherlock, it felt mind-blowing every time, but it was hapenneing and it felt… _god_ his mind was so scrambled, he couldn’t find the appropriate words. 

All his mind could come up with was a litany of, “John, John, _John_ ,” and he was spiraling down towards orgasm fast, so fast that he realised he would come in the next few seconds if John kept up what he was currently doing. 

He futilely tried to warn John, but managed nothing other than a clumsy tug on his short hair which did absolutely nothing and so his orgasm shot through him, muscles tense, toes curling and back bowing in pure ecstasy. 

When Sherlock came back to himself, he was too relaxed to even move a finger, but slowly blinked his eyes open to search for John — who he found kneeling up between his thighs, eyes screwed shut and vigorously stroking his cock and, before Sherlock could even start thinking about reciprocating, spurting come all over Sherlock’s upper body with a long, drawn out moan. 

Deep blue eyes found his, the heat in them taking his breath away and John’s shoulders slumped with a satisfied exhale. “Do you have any idea what kind of fucking hot noises you just made? And how fucking gorgeous you looked? I just couldn’t help myself — had to come all over you.” 

Not able to think of a single thing to say, Sherlock pulled John down on top of him and crashed their lips together, a fierce need compelling him touch every part of John’s body he could reach, running his hands up and down John’s back, diving lower to squeeze plumb buttocks and up again to feel the smoothness of John’s golden-blond-greying hair. 

They cooled down eventually, staying close in each other’s arms, not saying a word because there was nothing that needed to be said and when Rosie’s 34 minutes were up eventually, John lazily crawled out of bed, taking sweatpants and cozy jumper with him and vanished into the bathroom. 

Sherlock listened to John’s bare feet on the stairs, opening the door and greeting Rosie, cooing to her and talking nonsense, changing and dressing her. It never failed to fill his entire body with that special kind of warmth. 

Reluctantly, he took himself into the bathroom as well for a wipe down and dressed himself in pajama pants, shirt and dressing gown before putting on the kettle and cutting up a bit of fruit for Rosie to munch on.

 

They sat down on the kitchen table, drinking tea and feeding Rosie so she wouldn’t get herself covered in banana again and then migrated back to the living room where they said in their respective chairs, Sherlock going over a cold case file, John reading his (utterly boring) crime novel and Rosie playing by their feet. 

Barely twenty minutes had passed when John put the book down and sat up. “Sherlock, love,” he began, waiting for Sherlock to turn his attention to him and took a deep breath. “I know how much you love Rosie. How much you adore her, how much you care for her without ever demanding anything in return. I can see how worried you are when she gets ill or how thoughtful you are when deciding on what cases we take and what not. I can never understand why you do that for me, for her, for us, but I can try and show you that I’m forever grateful for that, show you how much I love you and care about you every single day. But there’re two things that are still missing for me — and one of them, with the help of a certain someone, is going to be changed today. So…” he turned his gaze down, “Rosie, sweetheart, would you bring Papa what we put on the stairs outside?” 

“John, what…” Sherlock whispered, voice raw with emotion. 

He kew he was sitting there frozen, but John’s words had struck something so deep down, had touched depths of his emotions he hadn’t even known to exist and now the hurricane of feelings inside wiped all coherent thoughts from his mind and left him utterly raw. 

Rosie came toddling back, a manilla envelope in her hands that looked almost comically large in front of her tiny body and handed it to Sherlock with outstretched arms. 

Rarely so clueless as to what was happening, he took the envelope and stared down at it, trying to make sense of his own thoughts, of what John had just said, of what his words implicated, but his brain wouldn't come up with anything. 

“Open, open, open!” Rosie chanted, now sitting in John’s lab and clapping her hands together. 

Sherlock looked up at John, who was sliming at him, his eyes reflecting the light unusually intense, but there was also an ever so slight bit of worry in them, and where Sherlock could normally read everything John was thinking just from a few facial expressions, nothing was making sense right now. 

There was nothing he could do, if he wanted to know what this was about, he had to open the envelope and look inside, so with inexplicably trembling hands, he lifted the flap and reached inside and pulled out a few sheets of paper.

Immediately, tears started welling up in his eyes, his vision blurred, making it impossible to keep focus on what he was holding in his hands right now, a burning in his lungs reminded him to breathe again, but that was about as much movement as his body was able to perform at that moment. 

As if John knew Sherlock wasn’t trusting his own eyes, he confirmed it, for which Sherlock was infinitely grateful this time. “I want you to adopt Rosie. She is as much yours as she is mine, even more maybe. She loves you with all of her heart and I want it to be official. I want you there if something happens to me, I want you to be her legal parent, to have as much rights as I have and I want you to be able to say ‘She is my daugther’ without that look of longing in your eyes, without having to explain yourself to people who don’t know us.” 

The last bis of armor stripped away, he started sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face and dropping into his lap and the only thing he could think about was wanting to be close, close to the only two people he every truly loved in this world, the two people who kept him alive, who it was and alway will be worth fighting for and who made him the person he is today just by existing. 

He managed to slide out of his chair and stand on incredibly shaky legs, leaving the papers behind in his seat and falling to his knees in front of John’s armchair, gathering Rosie into his arms, who hugged him as tightly has she could, somehow knowing how life changing the last few minutes had been and how much Sherlock needed her right now. The hand not fiercely holding on to her found its way to John’s jumper and fingers curled around soft familiar fabric. 

It could have been minutes or hours that he stayed right there, too much all consuming joy and happiness and love in him to feel his knees beginning to hurt or the cold to seep into his legs, but eventually he leaned back, looking at his family, something he never thought he would have, never thought he _could_ have, but there nonetheless and he was never letting go.


End file.
